by Gracie Hart
‘I nearly asked if we could stay with her tonight because I’m that afraid what mood Bill will come back in, and now we have no mother to protect us.’ Eliza breathed in heavily and glanced with tearful eyes at her older sister.
‘Hush now, Eliza, we will be all right. We’ll go to our room before he returns and bolt the door. Just like we used to do when our mother was alive. He can’t break the door down, and, if he tries, next door will hear and come around to see what all the noise is about.’ Mary-Anne knelt down and cradled her younger sister’s head. ‘We will be all right, I’ll look after you, I swear.’
Eliza kissed her sister on the cheek. ‘We will look after one another, and I will always be here for you; on that I promise.’
‘Get yourself home Bill. Them lasses will be wondering where you are and you can barely stand up, you’ve drunk that much.’ Derek Lewis, the landlord of the Boot and Shoe, picked up the grieving miner’s empty tankard and shook his head as Bill and the hardened drinkers from the Rose Pit continued their efforts to sup his barrels dry.
‘I’ll go when I’m bloody well ready. Fill ’em up again, tha’ll not say no to my money.’ Bill felt into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out his last few coins and put them down on the oak counter for the landlord to take.
‘You’ve had enough, lad, and I’m closing the bar.’ Derek Lewis looked at the burly miner who was lost in grief and regretted his decision as he scanned the drunken mob that was looking like they were going to lynch him for his refusal of another gill.
‘Nay, you know better than to refuse us. We’ll just help ourselves!’ Jack Langstaff yelled and slammed his tankard down and laughed at the meek-mannered landlord.
Derek looked at the six-foot tall miner, who had a reputation as a good fighter and had the respect of all the miners after he had single-handedly lifted a pit prop on his shoulders for one of his colleagues to be saved after a rock fall. He had muscles on him like a prize fighter and he’d have been an unwise man to go against him in drink. ‘Just another gill and then you are all on your way; some of us need our sleep.’ Derek sighed and went back on his decision for fear of his life.
A cheer went up and Jack got slapped hard on the back.
‘Here, take your brass.’ Bill pushed the coins towards Derek and looked up at him with bloodshot eyes.
‘You can have this one on me, in respect of your loss.’ Derek looked at the mess of a man and for a brief moment felt sorry for him.
‘God bless Sarah, she was a good woman. Or should I say, a good lay, so I’ve heard old Ellershaw brag!’ Jack raised his empty tankard in the air and said what everyone had been thinking all night.
Bill sat up from his chair and it toppled backwards onto the stone-flagged floor as he walked over to the hefty Jack who was grinning from ear to ear, oblivious to the response from his friends around him. Bill’s mood had changed as he grabbed Jack’s neck, forgetting that his target was nearly twice the size of him and young enough to be his son.
‘What did you bloody well say about my wife?’ Bill snarled and held him tight but Jack brushed him away like a fly as he toppled, too drunk to stand.
‘What?!’ Jack looked around at the astonished faces of the drinkers. ‘I only said that old Ellershaw was having his way with her, like everyone else knows that’s here. She was never away from his office, we all know that she paid him in kind for the rent when you were working your guts out at the pit face. But if you want to make something of it, come on you bugger.’ Jack took a swig out of his tankard and then threw it down onto the stone floor before rolling his sleeves up in readiness for the fight he knew was going to come.
The rest of the group looked at one another, not believing that Jack had come out with what everyone knew to be true but was not spoken about. It was common knowledge how Sarah Parker paid the rent when her Bill had drunk away his wages. ‘Hold your tongue, Jack, you know nowt. Anyway, you don’t speak ill of the dead.’ David Bowers looked at Bill who was still sat on his backside wondering quite what to do with himself.
‘I’m nob’but telling the truth, that she was Ellershaw’s whore. It’s probably his baby that they’ve buried with her.’ Jack wiped his mouth and looked around at the brooding miners and knew he’d said too much.
‘Get yourself home, Jack, while you can. You’re not welcome any longer in this establishment.’ Derek stood between Jack and the deflated Bill, even though he knew he took his own life in his hands by doing so. ‘All of you get away to your beds and be thankful you’ve homes and wives to go to.’ He looked at David Bowers, the most sober of the bunch, for support and watched as the mob, led by Jack, left the Boot and Shoe, brought to their senses by the words uttered by the only sober man in the room.
‘Aye, get yourselves home, lads,’ David shouted after the mob and looked down at Bill, holding out his hand for him to grab, to help himself off the floor. ‘Take no notice of Jack, his mouth runs away with him in drink.’ David looked at the dumbstruck Bill and heaved him to his feet.
‘Nay, David, I know he’s right. I just used to turn a blind eye. I was never good enough for her or those stuck-up lasses of hers. She wanted better.’ Bill stood up, unsteady on his feet, and propped himself up next to the bar.
‘You’ll get him home, David?’ Derek started to clear up the knocked-over tankards and looked at the two crestfallen friends.
‘Aye, I’ll see him back home. After that he’ll have to look after himself. He slung Bill’s arm around his shoulder and staggered with him out of the inn. ‘You’ve got to stop getting into such a state, Bill, one day you’ll not make it home.’
‘What home, I haven’t got a home, nor a job, cause I’m not going back to that hellhole after tonight,’ Bill mumbled.
‘It’ll look different in the morrow, lad, get yourself a good night’s sleep and things will look a lot clearer in the morning.’ David went quiet and concentrated on getting his broken-hearted friend home, knowing nothing would look better in the morning. To be honest things would look worse in the cold light of day, when he realised everyone had known so much about his beloved Sarah’s dalliances with the owner of the Rose Pit.
‘I think I heard David Bowers’ voice. He must have brought Bill back home,’ Mary-Anne whispered to Eliza who lay next to her. Both hardly dared to move as they heard the drunken men climb the stairs and enter their parents’ bedroom.
They lay still as they heard Bill relieve himself in the chamber pot and then the springs on their parents’ bed squeak with the weight of their stepfather being put upon it, followed by footsteps going down the stairs and the front door slamming after David Bowers’ safe delivery of his charge. ‘He’ll not give us any bother tonight, Eliza, he’ll be asleep as soon as he hits the pillow. Go to sleep and don’t worry; we can rest easy tonight.’ Mary-Anne hugged her fretting sister in the bed that they shared and sighed and stared into the darkness, worrying what the days ahead would bring. No matter what was thrown at them she was going to have to be strong for her and Eliza.
Seven
Bill lay in his bed. His head was thumping and his mouth was dry and he felt full of the excesses of the previous night’s drinking. He lay looking out of the small window of the bedroom, watching the clouds scuttle across the sky and remembering the words Jack Langstaff had uttered while off his head on drink. He knew them to be true, even though he’d never tackled Sarah about it.
If she had not been Ellershaw’s mistress he would surely have been dismissed from his position at the pit before now and have lost the roof over his head. God knew he had abused his position there plenty of times when the worse for drink. But he’d never had the sense to put his house in order; perhaps if he had done his Sarah would still be with him. He listened for any signs of life in the house, but it was silent; not even a peep from the usually busy kitchen.
He reached for his pocket watch from out of his waistcoat and sat up in the bed. Ten o’clock – his shift at the pit would have started four hours ago and his a
bsence would have been noted by his fellow workers and, no doubt, by management. His colleagues would understand the situation but Ellershaw and his sidekick Tom Thackeray would not have been so forgiving. What the hell, he thought, he’d no intention of going back there anyway. He’d nothing to keep him at Woodlesford or to keep his job at Rose Pit. It was time to go back up to the north east, back to Sea Houses, where he belonged. Sarah and their bairn was dead, and her lasses hated him, so they must learn to look after themselves.
He caught his reflection in the swing mirror that stood on the washstand and thought how rough he looked. Where was the good-looking young man that had looked back at him ten years ago? Sitting on the edge of the bed, still dressed in his previous day’s clothes, was an angry shell of a man with greying hair, a man who was not him, he thought, as he watched himself run his fingers through his thinning hair.
He stood up and made his way to the washstand. He poured the jug of water into the bowl before refreshing his face with scoopfuls of the ice cold water. He patted his face dry with a washcloth, reaching out for the handle on the washstand to steady himself from the dizziness that he was feeling from his night of drinking. He then took down the carpetbag from the top of the wardrobe and grabbed the few shirts he possessed from the wardrobe, placing them in the bag.
Still overcome with emotion and drink, he opened what he thought to be his drawer for his shirt collars, handkerchiefs and socks to take with him. His hand lingered as he realised he’d opened the wrong drawer and inside was what was left of Sarah. Hung over as he was, he couldn’t fail to spot the small bottle, tucked away between Sarah’s hair grips and everyday things that had meant so much to her. He recognised the faint handwriting immediately; while it was barely readable he knew it to be from her sister, Patsy.
He opened the cork stopper to smell the small amount of potion that was left in the bottle. The pungent smell made him feel sick as he quickly put the stopper back in place. His mind raced wildly putting two and two together quickly. So that was it: Sarah’s death was Patsy’s doing. Her and her ways to help women out of trouble … she’d killed her own sister with her wicked potions.
Bill looked at the bottle and felt his hands shake with the anger he felt towards his sister-in-law and the fact that Jack Langstaff’s words might be true when it came to the baby that Sarah had tried to get rid of. It probably hadn’t been his baby she had lost after all – she’d tried to get rid of Ellenshaw’s bastard. He raised his hand and threw the bottle against the wall, watching what was left of the potion trickle down onto the floor amongst the broken glass pieces. That cemented his decision to leave, but before he did there was someone he had to pay a visit to … a visit that was long overdue.
The five miles walk into Leeds from Rothwell was if it had never taken place as Bill entered into the industrial smoke-covered city. His temper had spurred him on and his only thoughts were to give Patsy a piece of his mind. He wasn’t afeared of her husband, Mick. He was just a lazy paddy and would probably not even leave his bed if he raised his hand in violence to his wife. By God, the woman would pay for her evil deeds. How many other unborn babies had she caused the death of? No wonder she wasn’t a mother herself, she didn’t deserve to be.
He pushed his way through the crowds up Briggate, his carpetbag slung over his shoulder as he pushed and barged his way up through the busy centre and up to the back streets that lead to Pounders Court. He stopped a few yards from the corner of the entrance to the court and took a moment to make clear his thoughts on what he was about to do. He immediately regretted his stop as the stench from the nearby tannery filled the air and a rat, fat from feeding on the waste from the skins, scuttled across the cobbled street almost over his feet. The slums of Leeds were not for him; he might not have lived in a palace but at least he hadn’t lived like the low-life that lived in these back streets. Even the rat probably had a better home than half of the poor wretches that lived here, he thought, as he looked around at the squalor that surrounded him.
With his thoughts still set on giving Patsy a pasting, he turned the corner into Pounders Court. He walked past the young lad that was playing with an old tin can, amusing himself by hitting it around the yard with a stick. Bill noticed that he looked as if he had never been washed since the day he was born, his clothes were in tatters and his feet were bare. He made for the closed door of Patsy and Mick’s house and banged his fist on the crackled paintwork of the rotting door.
Patsy opened the door and was surprised to see her brother-in-law on her step.
‘Bill, what brings you to these parts?’
‘You should bloody well know … after all it’s your doing that she’s left us.’ Bill slammed the door behind him, dropping his carpetbag back on the floor and walked towards Patsy.
‘Left you? What do you mean, left you? Has she run off with another fella? I’ve heard nowt from our Sarah, nor her lasses for over a week or more. I wouldn’t blame her for that; you never were good enough for our lass.’ Patsy saw the anger on his face and knew that through necessity she was going to have to stand her ground with the man that her sister had married.
‘You fucking bitch.’ Bill lunged at Patsy and pinned her to the wall. ‘She’s dead, killed by one of your witch’s potions. You evil bitch!’ Bill looked around the dark room filled with herbs and bottles of potions. ‘How many other folk have you killed with the bloody rubbish you brew?’ he snarled as he slapped Patsy across her face.
‘Mick, Mick!’ Patsy shouted as Bill slapped her again.
‘Shout of him all you like, I can take him on any day. The lazy Irish bastard.’ Bill banged Patsy again the wall again and again. ‘No wonder you didn’t show your face at the funeral, you murdered your own sister and her baby.’
‘I didn’t know, nobody told me.’ Patsy screamed, tears falling down her cheeks.
‘You didn’t bloody care. You wizened-up excuse of a woman. Just because you are barren, you think everyone else should be.’ Bill’s hands grabbed at Patsy’s throat.
‘I think that’s enough now. You can put Patsy down and get out of my house,’ Mick said loudly as he emerged from the cellar, grabbing Bill by the shoulder. ‘Feck off and leave us be. We are sorry to hear of your loss, but I’m not prepared for you to bray my Patsy to pulp just because she helped your Sarah get rid of a baby she didn’t want. Happen you should look at yourself, you are as much to blame.’
Bill turned around and swung a fist at Mick, who dodged it smartly. ‘I’ll floor you, you bloody paddy. I’m not to blame for my Sarah’s death!’
Bill lunged at Mick and then stopped short as he saw another man, the new lodger, come up from the cellar.
‘Aye, you do right to stop your ranting. John Vasey here is Mayo’s prize fighter. You wouldn’t stand a chance if he sets into you.’ Mick grinned as his close friend rolled up his sleeves to lay into the man that was causing so much distress to the best home he’d had since his eviction from his croft in Ireland. ‘He’d knock your block off in a second and think nothin’ of it.’ Mick looked up admiringly at the tall, muscular, dark-haired man that stood silent, awaiting of instructions. ‘Now, pick your bloody bag up and leave us be. And don’t bother coming back. With Sarah gone, you are no longer welcome here.’ Mick looked at his wife who was covered in blood and crying, curled up in a heap on the floor.
‘She killed my Sarah, I hope she can’t live with herself when she lies in bed and thinks of what she’s done.’ Bill swiped his hand along the table that was covered with bottles filled and about to be filled with Patsy’s remedies. Smashing glass and liquids onto the flagged floor as he looked across with hate at the weeping woman.
John Vasey stepped forward ready to hit Bill.
‘Leave him, John. He’s not worth it. Besides, he’s leaving now, aren’t you, Bill? Before anybody else gets hurt!’ Mick knew that Bill liked to pick on women but wasn’t man enough to fight either him or John. Besides he couldn’t help but feel a bit of pity for him, after losi
ng his wife.
‘Aye, I’m off. You’ll not see me ever again. I’m off back where I belong, leaving you and yours in this muck-midden you call your home. She should hang for what she’s done!’ Bill pointed his finger at Patsy as he picked his bag up and opened the door.
‘I am sorry for your loss, Bill. Despite our differences you didn’t deserve to lose Sarah. Patsy was there for her when she asked for help, she’s as heartbroken as you – you can see that.’ Mick looked across at his sobbing wife and watched as Bill dropped his head and slammed the door behind him. He breathed out heavily as he watched him leave through the small window.
‘Are you all right, Patsy?’ Mick went over to his wife and knelt down next to her.
‘I’ll take myself back downstairs.’ John Vasey looked at the grieving couple and thought it best if he made himself scarce.
‘Aye, all right, Thanks, John.’ Mick looked up at his quiet, well-meaning friend as he helped Patsy to her feet. ‘Are you all right, lass? I’m sorry I never heard him come until it was too late to save you from his blows.’ Mick put his arm around her waist and sat her down on a chair next to the table covered with smashed bottles and dripping medicines.
‘I’m all right, nothing that time won’t heal. But our Sarah, Mick! Have I really killed her? I asked Mary-Anne and Eliza to tell her that it was a strong mixture and to be careful with it. She must not have headed my words or they forgot to tell her.’ Patsy sobbed and wiped her eyes with her apron as she looked around her at the chaos that Bill had brought them. ‘She should have known how much to take.’ Patsy gripped Micks arm.
‘Aye, Patsy, perhaps you shouldn’t dabble in what nature intends for us all.’ Mick looked at his wife and wiped the blood away from her nose with the end of her apron.
